We left early the next morning in the Jeep: Maya driving, I in the passenger seat, Ambrosio crouched in the rear among the gas cans and my duffel—I wasn't going anywhere without my Kevorkian kit. He had a lap full of giant palm leaves and he was stringing them together with some sort of vine.
“What're you up to, Ambrosio?” I said. My voice was even more hoarse and cracked than yesterday.
“This will help you reach the air tines,” he said with a grin.
And that was all he would say.
I sipped slowly at my mixture of milks, trying not to wince with each swallow, and trying to keep it from sloshing all over the interior of the Jeep as we bumped up steep trails into the mountains.
We drove in silence, mostly. I was most hoarse—and swallowing was the hardest—first thing in the morning. The tumor tissue probably became edematous overnight, and only after I'd been up for awhile did it shrink some. I couldn't stand the rasp of my own voice, so I could imagine how it sounded to others.
And Maya seemed a little distant after last night's encounter.
Consequently neither of us was the best company this morning.
Eventually I noticed the terrain looking increasingly volcanic.
“Are we going back to the lake?” I asked.
Maya shook her head. “No. We visit a very old volcano today—or rather, what is left of it.”
The terrain flattened into a high plateau. The vegetation thinned as the soil became harder and blacker. Finally the trail disappeared and we pulled to a stop at the base of a steep incline.
“We must walk from here,” Maya said.
She handed me a coil of rope—the same we'd used in the sand pit—and shouldered her backpack.
“We're not going to do more spelunking are we?”
“No,” she said as she started to climb. “Come. You will see.”
We left Ambrosio behind, and he headed into the brush with his machete. As we climbed, I began to hear a strange sound, a mournful low-pitched hum, rising and falling. The farther we ascended, the louder it became until it seeped into my bones and buzzed in my head.
The ground suddenly flattened and we stepped out onto a high ridge overlooking an emerald sea of mountains and valleys. But directly in front of me lay a black hole. Not the astronomical kind— this was volcanic.
We were standing atop a volcanic cone. Its mouth stretched fifty yards across. The low moan I'd been hearing echoed from somewhere deep inside that mouth.
Maya moved to the edge but I held back. As I watched her kneel on the rim and stick her head over the abyss, I fought an urge to rush forward and yank her back. But as her head cleared the edge, I saw her braids lift and flutter above her head.
And then it all came together: the moaning sound, the wind pouring up from the depths—this was El Silvato del Diablo . . . the Devil's Whistle.
Maya turned and smiled. She motioned me closer. I got down and approached the edge on my hands and knees. The wind blasted my face and roared in my ears as I peeked over. I squinted against it and peered down smooth, sheer black walls dropping vertiginously to shadows of unguessed depth.
After a moment, Maya pulled me back. I didn't resist.
“The prevailing winds off the sea enter a wide cave mouth far below and funnel up through the chimney. During a storm it is quite frightening. The mountain's screams can be heard for miles.”
I was only half-listening. I knew she'd said the so-called air tines were at El Silvato del Diablo.
“Where are they?”
She seemed to know what was on my mind. “The air tines?” She pointed directly across the chasm. “They're over there . . . around a bend to the left of that ledge.”
I scanned the far wall, found the ledge, and made out a line of shadow where the volcanic wall seemed to fold around.
“Now how in the world do I get there? Crawl along the rim?”
“No. This is the only part of the rim that will support our weight. The rest is very thin and crumbly.”
“Do we go around the far side and climb over?”
“No. The walls are very steep and smooth and hundreds of feet high.”
“So what the hell am I supposed do—fly over?”
“Yes!” she said, smiling and nodding enthusiastically. “That is exactly what you must do! How do you know this?”
I thought she was putting me on until we returned to the Jeep and I learned what Ambrosio had been making with those palm leaves: wings. Even then, I wasn't completely convinced. I stared at the crude construction of leaves, branches, and vines and shook my head in disbelief.
“You don't really expect me to strap that on and jump over the edge, do you?”
“Si!” Ambrosio said. “I make these before. They fly plenty fine.” I turned to Maya, intending to say, You're joking, right? But then
I realized that Maya didn't joke. Now I was truly perturbed.
“I can't do this.”
“You must.”
“It won't work.”
“It has worked for others, it can work for you.”
“You?” I said.
She nodded.
Here it was again: Maya had done it, so why couldn't I?
I felt shaky. Maybe it was from lack of solid food, maybe it was fear, or perhaps a combination of the two. I stepped over to the Jeep and swigged some of the milk mix, swallowing as fast as my throat would allow. After a few moments I began to feel better . . . less shaky, but far from relaxed.
I looked up and noticed Maya and Ambrosio watching me expectantly. I sighed. I'd already been almost buried alive in sand, almost roasted alive in molten lava, almost drowned. I supposed I could risk almost plummeting to my death . . . as long as we didn't forget the almost part.
“What the hell,” I said as bravely as I could. “Let's give it a shot.”
Ambrosio's response was a big grin. From Maya . . . a lingering look and a slow nod. What was she thinking? What was going on behind those jade eyes? Was all this necessary, or was she merely testing my limits, seeing how far she could push me before I'd dig in my heels and go no further?
I had to admit the wings were pretty ingenious—more like a kite, actually. Slim, flexible tree branches formed the frame, thickly layered palm leaves the skin, all bound together by tough green vines. Thicker vines strapped the frame to my body and formed handholds on the wings. The narrow V-shaped end of the kite was tethered to my left ankle; my right leg remained free.
“When you begin to fly,” Ambrosio said as he tied the last knot, “hook your right foot over the left.”
“When I begin to fly . . .” I said, grinning. “Now there's a prime example of positive thinking.”
Where was the terror? For some reason, I wasn't nearly as afraid as I should have been. After the initial alarm, my self-preservation instincts seemed oddly muted this time. A side-effect of Captain Carcinoma's relentless assault, perhaps? Or were the rational parts of my brain overriding them? After all, if I went into a nose dive, what was the cost? I'd have advanced the inevitable by only a couple of days. A few dizzy seconds of tailspinning terror, and then instant, merciful oblivion, quicker than my Kevorkian kit.
I found an odd sort of peace in that.
Ambrosio started tying the rope around my waist.
“What's that for?”
“There are two dangers here,” Maya said.
“You mean besides dropping like a stone?”
“Yes. The other is flying too high. If you get too far above the rim, the crosswind will push you out of the updraft—”
“And I'll go sailing down into the jungle.”
She nodded. “Yes. We will try to prevent that with the rope.”
“I'd appreciate that.”
Ambrosio finished securing the rope, then checked all the fittings. Finally satisfied, he slapped my chest.
“You are ready to fly, señor.”
I nodded and stepped up to the edge. I couldn't believe how cocky and reckless I felt. Looking across the windy chasm, it seemed damn near impossible for this flimsy contraption to carry me to that far ledge. But I didn't care. Was this how you felt when you've got nothing to lose? Whatever it was, it pumped me full with an exhilarating, untethered feeling: I'll try anything . . . the sky's the limit.
Was this how Icarus felt?
And I wondered how Maya had felt when she'd stepped off the edge with her own set of wings. She'd had everything to lose—but she'd had her beliefs to buoy her. I, on the other hand, was buoyed by the imminence of death.
I inched the toes of my boots over the edge and felt the moaning updraft whip my hair and tug at my face. I looked into the abyss, and damned if I didn't sense it looking into me.
Now I was afraid. And I knew if I stood here much longer I might change my mind. So I clenched my teeth, tightened my grip on the handholds, leaned forward, and leaped off the edge.
I screamed in terror at the initial seconds of freefall, then the vertical hurricane of the updraft caught my wings and I thought my arms would dislocate from my shoulders. But I held on. The descent slowed, then stopped as I wheeled in a wide slow circle.
Good lord, I was flying!
I began to laugh and shout and whoop, and might have sounded like some rodeo cowboy if I'd had a voice that worked. I was giddy, I was wild, I was crazy and goddammit I was really flying!
I couldn't see Maya and Ambrosio above me on the rim, but I could hear Ambrosio calling to me about my right leg, so I hooked my trailing right foot over my left ankle and tried to gain some control over my flight. I was gliding in a slow clockwise circle. I pulled down on my right handle, dipping my right wing. This brought me closer to the center where the updraft seemed stronger. I began to rise.
Now I could see Maya and Ambrosio on the rim—Ambrosio held onto the rope with one hand and waved with the other, but Maya seemed to have the fingers of both hands crammed into her mouth. I remembered what Ambrosio had said about the crosswinds and didn't allow myself to rise too high. I pulled down on my left wing handle and widened my gyre, moving outward toward the wall where the ledge waited. But as the wall raced toward me I realized almost too late that I'd pulled down too far. Just in time I let up on the left and pulled hard on the right and barely avoided splatting myself on the lava like a bug on a windshield.
I wheeled around again and gained altitude, then took it slow, easing myself toward the periphery. The ledge hove into view like a landing field. Luckily it was large enough to forgive the many errors in my ungainly approach. I unhooked my right foot and stuck it out, looking to make a one-point landing. I thought I was going to bring it off until my boot caught on a chunk of lava and I wound up skidding to a halt on my knees.
I stayed on my knees and sagged with relief. I let my pounding heart slow as I realized that I was nowhere near as cavalier as I'd seemed. I wanted to live more than I'd thought. That I'd just done something completely insane struck home with full force.
Finally I struggled to my feet and turned. I gave Maya and Ambrosio a thumbs up, then turned to the wall. I hobbled along the ledge, following it into a recess where I found another giant geode set into the rear wall. Four blue-hued tines nestled in its core. I plucked one free and put it in my pocket where it clinked against the other two. That was the easy part.
Now all I had to do was get back.
I found myself quaking at the thought. What had changed? I'd already done it. I knew now beyond a doubt that Ambrosio's wingkite contraption worked, and that I could handle it. I'd done it once, I could do it again . . . couldn't I?
Not that I had a choice. Take another great leap or stay here and rot.
And then I noticed the wind-tossed rope trailing from my waist to Maya and Ambrosio on the other side. What if . . . ?
I visualized them tying their end to the Jeep, myself finding a place to secure my end over here, and then crossing the chasm hand over hand along the rope.
Who was I kidding? My failing muscles wouldn't carry me ten feet before giving out and sending me down the Devil's Whistle right into his gullet.
But I also knew if I stepped up to the edge and looked down again, I'd have one hell of a time taking that giant step. So I ran for the edge—ran as best I could with one leg tethered to the wing assembly—and took a flying leap into the void.
Again that initial sensation of freefall, and then being buoyed by the wind. I headed directly across. Circling seemed dangerous now, what with the possibility of slamming into the sides. The central updraft seemed stronger, or perhaps I hadn't been in the core of it before. It caught me full blast when I was halfway across and lifted me to rim level, then higher. I dipped a wing to take me out of the blast but I seemed to be caught. I was looking down on Maya and Ambrosio and saw them hauling on the rope, reeling me in. Yes. Do that. Reel me in like a kite. Get me back to solid ground. Now. Please!
It was working. They were pulling me out of the gale, and I was losing altitude—but losing too much altitude too fast. The rope was slack now and I was in a dive toward Maya and Ambrosio. I let out a hoarse, cracked, anguished cry of terror as I swooped toward them. I pulled madly on the handles in a clumsy attempt to flap my wings, trying anything to slow my descent.
Ambrosio leaped and somehow got hold of me. He did his best to break my fall, but as we both tumbled to the ground I landed half on him and half on a rocky protrusion. Pain lanced through my left chest wall as I heard the dull crack of a breaking rib.
Maya rushed over. “Are you all right?”
I couldn't speak. The fall had knocked the wind out of me and a knife stabbed my chest every time I tried to take a deep breath. Finally the spasms eased and I managed a few shallow breaths.
“No,” I wheezed, clutching my side. “I'm not. I've got a broken rib.”
“But you are alive,” she said, kneeling beside me and taking my face between her hands. “That is what is most important. And you have your air tine. Now all you need is the water tine to complete your set.”
I hated to kill the bright light of hope in Maya's eyes, but she'd find out sooner or later.
“You don't understand,” I said. “If I couldn't hold enough air to reach the tines before, I'll never do it with a broken rib. It's over. I'm finished.”
When I saw her crushed expression, I didn't know who I felt sorrier for: me or her.